New Black Gold - Busted
by Shir0gane
Summary: This is a fanfiction one-shot dedicated to the game Deus Ex: Human Revolution, featuring Sarif Industries' Chief of Cyber-Security Francis 'Frank' Pritchard. Rated M for language. Title courtesy of and with friendly permission by Miracle Of Sound. Characters: Eidos Montreal. Preview: Alex De Bernardis


_2020, Detroit, Plum Terrace, Downtown Apartments_

/w8rabbit: damn was the rigt call to get u on the job snake

/w8rabbit: u rock dude

/nucl3arsnake: like stealing candy from a baby

/nucl3arsnake: specially since sarif hired futureguard to protect their network

/nucl3arsnake: poor idiot didnt know they keep at least 3 backdoors open into their system

/w8rabbit: fuck

/w8rabbit: u know that how

/nucl3arsnake: created 2 of those myself be4 got canned from fg

/nucl3arsnake: didnt like i was using it lol

/w8rabbit: ur the man

/nucl3arsnake: what u need

/nucl3arsnake: im in

/w8rabbit: r&d

/w8rabbit: client want a peek of sarifs latest tech

/nucl3arsnake: no problem

/nucl3arsnake: gimme a sec

/w8rabbit: make it quik

/w8rabbit: im afraid

/w8rabbit: shit

/w8rabbit: sry man

/w8rabbit: got flushd

/nucl3arsnake: wha|

Sitting on the floor of the abandoned apartment, Pritchard didn't even get to finish the message, when all of a sudden the proximity alert he'd placed in the stairwell went off, blinking in a warning red on the terminal to his right. Then another one, by the fire ladder, and another, up at the roof, until one by one all six of his escape routes out of the building had been compromised.

'Shit!' he cursed, hurrying to log off. 'Shit, shit, shit!'

He knew, there was no way the authorities would have found him on their own that quickly and with such efficiency, unless a certain someone had fucked him over, selling him out to save his own worthless skin.

'Living up to your name, fat hare, are ya. You're so gonna pay for that.'

Mumbling, Pritchard let his fingers fly over the keyboard, activating the emergency routine he'd written to nuke the entire hard drive never to be recovered.

And he'd just set up this terminal. What a waste.

On the floor outside the unlit living room the hacker could already hear footsteps closing in, taking position, while low voices were giving brief commands. Same out on the fire escape, where heavy boots were climbing up the metal scaffold, drawing near.

He had no idea who might be coming for him, but he had to expect the worst. So he took some distance from both the screens, got on his knees and submissively interlocked the fingers behind his head, waiting and trusting in his programming to do its job.

64%. Come on, faster!

The repressed sounds from all around subsided for a moment, indicating a last team check before they were going to storm the entrance and windows.

79%. Hurry up, dammit.

With a bang the door blew open, tearing off the strike plate, sending it flying, as glass shattered behind him from window panes being smashed to pieces.

A squad of five heavily armored task force units emerged through the doorway, assault rifles at the ready, swarming out and securing the room while cutting shadows with the flashlight beams mounted on their weapons.

'Detroit Police Department,' the first unit to approach Pritchard bellowed from under the helmet, gun pointed straight at his head. 'Stay down and don't make a move!'

Pritchard didn't intend to, squinting against the blinding light, not shifting an inch. Instead he tried to have a peek past the guy, checking the screen of his terminal.

92%. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon - before they notice.

'Rooms are clear, sir,' the backup squad came from behind, out the empty bedroom and into Pritchard's view, addressing their commander. 'The intel was solid. He's alone.'

Thanks a lot, w8rabbit.

Pritchard silently vowed to return the favor. The asshole didn't only sell him out, but also put SWAT onto his trail, like he was a goddamn terrorist.

Now, if just the system wipe would finally complete.

98%. Almost.

'Seize all the tech and take this scumbag into custody,' the commander issued the order and made a step right in front of the screen, covering it up.

Dammit!

The next moment Pritchard felt someone grab for his arm and twist it behind his back, forcefully pushing him to the ground, face down.

'Hey, no need to get physical,' he complained, pain in his voice muffled by the floor. 'I'm complying.'

'Zip it, ponytail,' the unit shut him up, getting a hold of the other arm as well to apply handcuffs. 'You have the right to remain silent - and I suggest you make good use of it. Anything you say-'

'Yeah, yeah, I know the litany,' Pritchard cut him off. 'Let's just get this over with.'

'Suit yourself.'

As he was lifted to his feet by the scruff of his jacket, the hacker had a final glance at the terminal. The dead-black screen showed no life at all, meaning the wipe had been successful. Now they got no evidence left to charge him with.

Feeling somewhat swell, Pritchard offered no resistance as the SWAT team walked him off.

* * *

 _2020, Detroit, Detroit Police Headquarters, Interrogation Room_

'Francis Wendell Pritchard,' the SWAT commander, Lt. O'Donnell according to the badge dangling from the belt of his plain clothes, savored Pritchard's full name with obvious amusement as he was surveying the police file. 'Age twenty-nine, born in Concord, New Hampshire, going by the hacker alias Nuc- what?'

'It's pronounced "Nuclearsnake",' Pritchard flippantly rectified, sitting on a chair across the metal table, hands now cuffed in front of him.

'Right, of course,' the massive cop feigned approval. 'And you already got a criminal record with us. Arrested for fraud and related activity in connection with access devices and computers.'

'There were never any charges filed,' Pritchard dismissed the allegation.

'Yeah, I can see that,' O'Donnell remarked, not withholding his suspicions. 'Don't think you're gonna be so lucky this time.'

'Don't fool yourself,' Pritchard sneered back. 'You got nothing on me.'

'You sure about that?' the lieutenant grinned, gleeful. 'Your partner in crime screwed you over real nice. You should choose your accomplices more wisely. Not only did he sell out your location, I got a whole transcript of your actions here. With this we can put your ass behind bars for quite a while, pal. So, why don't you just cooperate and save yourself a few years?'

'You know what,' Pritchard shifted on his chair and leant a bit closer. 'Why don't you just kiss this shiny ass of mine and let me have my phone call? I know my rights.'

O'Donnell tilted a brow and closed the file, affectedly sighing.

'It's gonna be like this, then? Well, have it your way.'

He gestured at the wall-sized one-way mirror to their left and rose from his seat, whereat the door opened and two officers entered the room to escort Pritchard back outside. Standing, he followed them into the open space office and towards the stairs - away from the phones, as he suddenly realized.

'Hey, what about my phone call?' Pritchard stopped and turned to address O'Donnell.

'You really have a case of damn rotten luck, man,' the bulky cop shrugged and grinned over. 'See, we don't know if you got some devices - hidden - somewhere. So we can't let you use the phone until our physician does a full body check on you. And he's already off duty for today. You'll have to wait till tomorrow. Have a sweet night.'

'You gotta be kidding me!' Pritchard flared up and made a step forward, just to get instantly caught in a tight grip by his escort. 'That's a clear violation of my rights! You can't do that!'

'Regulations, pal, regulations. Can't help it,' O'Donnell smirked and beckoned the two cops to take him away.

'Come on, don't cause any more trouble,' one of them warned.

Notwithstanding his outrage, Pritchard knew it was a very stupid idea to actually resist in a building full of cops; especially when they hid their misconduct behind their rules.

Gnashing, he let himself get pushed towards the stairs and the holding cells, tagging along in powerless resentment.

Dammit, this hadn't been part of the plan.

Two flights ahead, arriving at the basement they ran into another officer just emerging from among the lockers; a tall guy, about Pritchard's age, clean shaven, black-haired and with noticeable blue eyes.

'Hey, Jensen, you missed all the action tonight,' the less mute one of Pritchard's guards hailed him. 'Look, we got us a hacker.'

'Nice job, guys.' They high-fived each other as he walked by.

Pritchard gave out a dismissive snort.

Cops - now and then, here and there, all the same.

Turning him right, the two guys shoved Pritchard through a door into the holding area and on to the small office located opposite the cells. There, they finally uncuffed him, stripped the jacket off his back and checked his clothes for further belongings to collect everything in a metal bin.

When the silent one even took the rubber band out of his hair, undoing the ponytail, Pritchard protested once again.

'Hey, what, the hell you taking that for? Afraid I might fling you to death with it?'

'Keeping you from strangling yourself with it, Rapunzel,' the other mocked, making even the quiet one smirk. 'Stay cool. You're getting it back once you've been processed.'

Whenever that was going to happen.

Resigning, Pritchard let them push him out of the office and into the first of the empty cells, closing and locking the door behind him before they left him alone.

Pritchard heaved a sigh and had a brief look around. The bed was nothing more than a metal rack covered by a worn-out, dirty mattress, the chair didn't look like it would carry even his slender frame for a whole five minutes, and the faucett along with the very public toilet bowl couldn't have been more unsanitary. Stifling a shudder, Pritchard urged his body to keep it together until he got out of there.

Provided he ever got out of there.

Now being left alone with his thoughts, Pritchard finally reconsidered his situation. The problem wasn't even so much that the cops didn't let him make his phone call. It was the incriminating evidence they'd supposedly gotten from w8rabbit being the bigger concern.

If that data was genuine and respective charges were raised, they could actually build a solid case against him. Getting his head out of this one would involve a lot more favors than he was able to call in.

And his hands were bound at any rate as long as they didn't let him use the goddamned telephone.

* * *

 _2020, Detroit, Detroit Police Headquarters, Holding Cells_

Despite the disgust of his involuntary resting place Pritchard was having some sleep, exhausted after this whole day's strain, when he was suddenly jerked awake by the main door being pushed open.

Drowsy, but curious, he got up to have a look at the source of the noise, just to recognize the black-haired high-fiver from before, walking in another prisoner; a filthy, ragged hobo who was so wasted he could barely stand on his feet.

The cop - whose name Pritchard had already forgotten - was about to shove the drunkard into the closest cell right beside him.

'Hey,' the hacker revolted, 'there are enough unoccupied cells left. Don't you dare put that stinking scum next to me.'

The guy cast him a scrutinizing glance, then shrugged and pushed the hobo ahead to the cell furthest away, where he locked him up and returned.

Surprised the cop had actually heeded the complaint, Pritchard decided to try his luck a second time.

'What about something to read?' he suggested as the other was closing in. 'Or at least some paper covers for this?'

Pointing at the grimy toilet he caught himself another scowl before high-fives simply passed by and left without uttering a word.

Asshole.

Resigning, Pritchard lay back down and had another try at finding a spot on the mattress that didn't reek of vomit.

He was finally about to drift off, when the door opened once more, stirring him wide awake again.

What now, dammit?

He already had a shitload of insults in mind, prepared to throw them at whoever was interrupting his sleep, as high-fives came around the corner and stuck something between the bars of his cell.

Pritchard frowned, suspiciously eyeing the cop and the something he held, until he identified the offering as some folded magazine wrapping a pack of toilet seat covers.

Puzzled and still hesitant he crossed the distance to the door, while high-fives just waited, staying silent.

'Not concerned I braid myself a noose with that?' Pritchard asked provokingly.

'Just don't think you're that stupid,' high-fives shrugged.

Quite struck by the gesture Pritchard finally took the gifts. The other gave him a brief nod, before he was about to turn away and leave.

'Perhaps we can bargain for a steak, medium rare, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon?' Pritchard gave it another shot, stopping the guy short.

'Don't push it,' he smirked and went on.

'A pizza and a beer, then? Burger and coke?'

But high-fives didn't show any further reaction and was gone soon after.

Well, at least Pritchard got something to read and wouldn't catch the pox if he ever had to use that toilet.

* * *

The rest of the night progressed slowly and horribly. The hard bed frame painfully pinched his ribs, the lights never went out, the mattress stank, the drunkard too, and Pritchard couldn't stave off the growing hunger nagging at him. He woke up several times, always tormented by vivid and distorted dreams of imprisonment and escape.

He was downright glad when he heard the main doors open again sometime in the morning, half expecting high-fives to come back.

But to his disappointment it was O'Donnell who turned around the corner, planting himself in front of Pritchard's cell, sneering at him.

'Rise 'n' shine.'

'Your physician finally decided to show up? Can we get on with this?' Not exactly looking forward to the announced procedure, Pritchard yet preferred some development on his case to the current stagnation.

'Even better,' the cop grinned. 'You've got a visitor who wants to have a word with you first.'

A visitor? Who the hell could that be?

'Give me a moment to groom up and I'll be right there for you,' Pritchard remarked, bracing for quite any bombshell O'Donnell was about to drop on him, when the cop simply gestured around the corner to invite the mysterious guest.

Pritchard could barely believe his eyes as he recognized the older guy approaching; dressed in expensive designer clothes, greying at his temples and the right arm replaced with a shiny, ornamented cybernetic prosthesis.

David Sarif, CEO and founder of Sarif Industries; the very place Pritchard was hacking into last night.

'Oh looky, if that isn't the big boss in the flesh,' he made a snide comment as soon as he'd managed to overcome his initial surprise. 'I feel so special.'

Sarif didn't respond, just gave the lieutenant a stern glance and a nod, ordering him outside. Pritchard warily watched the cop comply without as much as an attempt of objecting. Meanwhile, Sarif found himself a nearby chair, dragged it in front of the bars and took a seat, before turning his attention back at the detainee.

'You could say so, Mr. Pritchard, yes,' he finally spoke up, voice sonorous and using some southern accent.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Pritchard couldn't help being defiant.

'It means,' Sarif stressed, 'I owe you a debt of gratitude.'

'What for? Breaching your system and trying to steal from you? Or getting busted doing it? You're welcome, in any case.'

Sarif showed a quick smile.

'Both, actually. That incident last night - successful or not - made me painfully realize the major deficiencies in my network security.'

'And?' Pritchard frowned, not daring to assume where the old man was getting at.

'And it's been you revealing those flaws. You proved yourself very skilled and resourceful, breaking into a network I hired one of the leading companies to protect. To no avail, obviously. That's why I decided to hire someone else; someone better. Preferably you.'

'This is a joke, right?'

'Believe me, Mr. Pritchard, I don't tend to joke when it comes to the safety of my company.'

'And you wanna hire me, the one who exposed you?' Pritchard was not convinced.

'Exactly. Who else would be more suited for the job?'

'You're crazy.'

Sarif gave a shrug, substantiating the facts.

'And what do I get out of it?'

'You mean besides all the benefits you'd have as Manager of Cyber Security Division? Well, first of all I won't raise any charges against you, of course. Secondly, you'd have all the equipment and toys you need at your disposal to keep Sarif Industries safe. And thirdly, you are what now, twenty-nine? You've lost your job at Futureguard three years ago, conducting criminal activities ever since, even got arrested before. How long do you want to keep on going like that?'

Besides the old man being disturbingly well informed, he had a point. As a matter of fact, crime, even white collar, offered a less reliable retirement plan than working corporate. And didn't O'Donnell just yesterday advise Pritchard to choose his accomplices more wisely?

'You're serious,' Pritchard still needed affirmation.

'Dead serious,' Sarif nodded.

'No repercussions?'

'None whatsoever. The only thing I demand from my employees is commitment to Sarif Industries. You think you can do that, son?'

'I'm not your son,' Pritchard rebuffed mechanically, yet contemplated the offer.

'Francis, then.'

'It's Frank.'

And with that Pritchard suddenly realized he'd just kind of agreed to take the job. A fact that didn't go unnoticed by Sarif as well.

'Welcome on board, Frank.'

'Wait a minute, I didn't say "yes".'

But Sarif simply smirked, rose and put the chair back in its corner.

'Your bail should have been paid in full by now, and my lawyer is taking care of the formalities. I'll go and fetch an officer to get you out of there.'

Quite at a loss for words, Pritchard watched the CEO leave, barely believing what just had happened. Sarif had assumed all along Pritchard would accept the offer, accounting for his bail beforehand. This guy was somewhat intriguing, indeed.

* * *

Ten minutes later Pritchard was out of his cell and slipping into his jacket under the watchful eyes of that talkative cop from yesterday, provoking another sneer when he finally put the ponytail back up.

Scowling, Pritchard just grabbed his remaining belongings and went on, out of the holding area and up the stairs, closely followed by bristle-haired Mr. Rapunzel.

As they arrived at the main level and entered the spacious office area, David Sarif stood there waiting for him, talking to a grumpy O'Donnell who didn't seem happy at all about the discharge.

'Are you really sure about this?'

'How often do I have to repeat myself, lieutenant?' Sarif threw him an annoyed look.

'Gentlemen,' Pritchard approached both of them. 'As much fun as this stay has been, all good things must come to an end. First, though, you won't mind if I use a more sanitary bathroom before I depart.'

O'Donnell reluctantly gave his consent and Mr. Rapunzel was already about to lead the way, when Pritchard held him back.

'Thank you, but I'm quite capable of handling that all by myself.'

With that he left them standing and headed towards the bathroom, just to take a turn as soon as he was out of sight and climb up the stairs into the second floor. There, he quickly found an unoccupied office, closing the door behind him.

Getting access to the terminal wasn't even a challenge, neither was finding what he was looking for and writing a simple, but effective routine came naturally to him anyway.

He was back with Sarif in less than five minutes and followed him towards the exit as the CEO quietly cursed away.

'Damn, those inept pencil pushers, trying to give me a hard time over this.'

'If you think that way, you might wanna wait and watch the show for a moment,' Pritchard pointed at the big TV hovering in the corner of the foyer.

The news displayed on the screen broke up all of a sudden, being replaced by private video footage showing what appeared to be a party of all the SWAT squad members, celebrating in a cowboy bar. They were obviously drunk and one after another embarrassed themselves trying to ride the mechanical bull; everything put to the tune of Pointer Sisters' I'm So Excited and having the graphic watermark of Pritchard's Nucl3arsnake overlayed.

The feed was showing all over the precinct, caught in a loop, which would take quite some effort to break. Also, Pritchard had mailed this file to every cop in Detroit.

'You're a nasty one,' Sarif expressed his admiration.

'Not my best work, but there wasn't much time,' the hacker played it down.

He already had something way more ugly in mind for the w8rabbit.

'Can I give you a lift someplace?' Sarif turned to address his new Chief of Cyber-Security.

'To my future office, of course.'


End file.
